One of the scariest paths I've ever seen: the El Chorro walkway in Andalucia, Spain

On my way home

As much as I love Galician part of Spain, I am glad to be going home to my beloved San Francisco, a city that offers me as much freedom and opportunity as I can imagine. I can’t blame my problems or limitations on her because, at home, I am allowed to live as courageously as I dare, as big as my dreams are. This is an awesome responsibility, having to be accountable for how I live my life and, equally importantly, how I feel about it. This requires self-awareness guided by both truth and compassion, in equal measures.

After knowing Fonso for twelve months now, I am not sure what is going to come of this relationship, and maybe even more doubtful after I see more of his deep family life and friendships at home. However, some things are beyond our direct control and this relationship seems to be one of them. Time will tell. Before I left for this holiday, I asked of myself three things: 1. keep an open and warm heart, 2. to be present, and 3. to take care of myself, in body and mind. These goals turned out pretty well for me and I am feeling healed and whole.

Also, I was touched by all the stories that Fonso told me about Jason’s summer with him and at the restaurant. These stories reminded me of the time I spent in London when I was a junior in college, and how I was deeply changed by the people and circumstances I encountered so far away from mom and dad. My hunch is that Jason has not even begun to understand how working and living in Spain has changed him.

Lastly, I need to mention the wonderful way I saw Fonso and his siblings interacting with the family's kids, filling them up with love, attention and affection while delivering clear lessons on what is right and what is wrong. It seemed to be the right balance to me, providing a good, middle way that doesn’t veer off into either narcissism or materialism. Maybe that is the emotional inheritance of my grandfather and parents, which I have been able to pass on, in some measure, to Jason and other kids. I am not sure, but I am grateful to have spent this holiday with Fonso, in Galicia, and be on my way home.

Almost time to leave the land of my ancestors

We watched the sun set into the Atlantic tonight, at an obscure beach cafe and with a domesticated duck, named Juanito, at my feet, and a spirited boy trying to reach for it and feed it candy. The duck wisely used my legs for its protection.

Also, Fonso stopped on the way home to show me seven giant Sequoia trees thriving here in Galicia. They were planted by their eccentric owner over 70 years ago, and not surprising are shooting up in height, here in this land of black soil, strong sun and frequent rain. Everything grows wild here, all sorts of plants including ferns, palm and avocado trees. If you leave a lot of land untended and it will be covered up by a variety of plants and trees in three years. Things grow just like that. This is a land of dark forests, mountains, tumultuous seas, and witchcraft so I am not surprised by much that I find. I can see why Jason fell in love with it here during his three month apprenticeship.

Now off to the Darbo for drinking wine, eating chorizo, Celtic dancing, and talking with lots of Fonso's friends. I will be leaving this place, the land of my grandfather, Emilio Rodriguez, with its spirit even more burnt into my heart. My grandfather is even more with me, tonight and beyond.

Fonso's nephews, two brilliant boys

One is five and the other is six-months-old, and these boys are going to grow up to be giants, tall and strong. Everyone in Fonso's family is built like lumberjacks, with big bones and muscles and these kids are no exception. They are much bigger for kids their age. Yesterday, Brazier, the baby, discovered that he can push against my leg, moving himself with the carriage. He was absolutely delighted by this and kept motioning for me to stand close so he can do this, over and over.

I gave Xian a box of twelve Egyptian toy figures, including Queen Nefertiti, and he was spellbound by them, wanting to learn more. What fun. Xian is growing out of his baby face into a kid's one. It is great to witness this.

Losing myself where the pines meet the sea

I spent a pleasurable afternoon by myself, at the beach, reading this satisfying novel: "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress." Beautiful prose, an interesting story and an exotic setting. I was simply swept away for a few hours, following the adventures of two hapless re-education trainees from Mao´s Cultural Revolutionary China. A fine white sand beach, trimmed in tall Galician pines, was my reading room, and with the added attraction of comely gay and straight couples walking by without a stitch of clothing on.

My aching head

These gallegos know how to party. Last night, we went to some community festival called "Romeria de Dardo," which supposedly has some religious connotations to it which I did not see. More like a bacchanalia. We started the evening off at 11:30PM with empanadas, chorizo, tortillas (egg and potato) and bread. Then we started drinking a flaming punch out of ceramic cups, blowing out the fire when the level of alcohol was burned off to one's preferred level. And then Fonso's former colleagues from the Celtic dance troupe found us, and we started drinking sweet but powerful mojitios until the wee hours. That's when things got funny and a bit blurry. I don't drink much so I was "three sheets to the wind." I loved being silly with these gallegos, laughing with them and life. Even with my aching head this morning, it was all worth it.

Family: hard to live with but lonelier to live without

I can see Alfonso struggle with the challenges of managing a restaurant with three other adult siblings. They tend to fight about trivial things, especially when they are bored, tired, or anxious. That´s natural. While creating this restaurant has brought them together, in a successful enterprise, it has also exacerbated tensions that continue from childhood, especially given their birth order and varying personalities.

While they fight and complain, they also have a tremendous love for one another. They enjoy the feeling of family and watching each other´s lives. Of course, they have brought husbands, kids, boyfriends and girlfriends into this family sphere, not to menton the other employees at the restaurant. Today, our afternoon lunch, at 4.30PM, included twelve people, was served at a big communal table and punctuated with laughter, spirited exchanges about politics, and a contented burp or two. Being here makes me miss my family and wish that we lived in closer proximity to one another. I am really fortunate in having a close-knit family -- it was the luck of the draw. Sure, they annoy me at times, but my life is better for them. Fonso´s is too.

I admire these Galicians

I admire these people, who tend to waltz in the streets during holidays, lavish love and attention on their kids, eat chorizo and octopus and drink white wine with joy and moderation, and work hard. Last night, after what had been busy night at the restaurant, we sat outside with Fonso´s friends and compared life here and in California. A couple of observations: while you can legislate gay marriage, it takes a long time for society to accept such things. There is a big divide in this society between those who were born before Franco and after Franco, with the later group, in attitude and worldview, being like European counterparts in Stockholm or Dublin. What impresses me about younger Spaniards is their insistence on change and adopting the best aspects of European society. They feel that the Catholic Church ruled and abused the people during Franco's time, and have been discredited as a legitimate political force. And my friends predict that in the next 10 years, there will be a full accounting for the right-wing attrocities of the Franco era, as this democracy settles into middle age. A national reconcilliation would be a good thing for this country that still hesitates to discuss the recent past.

With the coming of the Euro here, prices have risen on most things and last night we walked through a large youth gathering (16-25) on the wharf, where people were hanging out and avoiding the high prices of bars and clubs -- just drinking beer and rum, listening to music and playing pranks on each other. While some were tipsy, it was not like similar scenes in the UK where there is more dangerous atmosphere of drunk and fighting gangs. Last night, people were content...enjoying the temperate weather and moonlight, the company of good friends, and the taste of the local beer, Estrella Galicia. All at 4AM. This American included.

My Saturday in the old country

Today was another perfect, warm fall day, with clear skies and a refreshing westernly ocean breeze. Like last night, today, I helped Fonso in the restaurant´s kitchen, hung out with his family and friend Fernando, and accompanied Fonso to a wooded nudist beach, which was, surprisingly, dominated by young Spanish families. Now, I am going to stroll down to town, watch the festivities of the city festival, and help Fonso with the dishes at the end of the night. I am content.

What a difference a day at the beach makes

After eating some fine Spanish seafood, I went to sleep for 15 hours, waking up just in a time for a sumptuous lunch, followed by the rest of the day at the beach. And what a relaxed afternoon, with a mild wind, clear skies, and 75 degree weather. I am in heaven, and feeling like myself again.

I made it to the other side

A few moments ago, I arrived in Spain, a little sleepy, jet-lagged and still getting used to my Spanish keyboard. It was an uneventful journey but the last 15 minutes were beautiful, as our small plane dropped out of the clouds, skimming the verdant Galician mountains that opened up to the rias and a large natural harbor, home to Vigo.

There is a bit of humidity in the air, the temperature is in the 70s, and it is good to be back in the old country. With my gallego!

Going home...to my grandfather's birthplace

Later today I am flying to Galicia, Spain, where my grandfather was born and emigrated from. Of course, I am seeing Fonso and spending some quality time with him. Most of all, I am unplugging for a week, resting from an active and often stressful summer, especially given the recessionary and slow business environment. I need to sleep in, go to the beach, eat great Spanish food, laugh, and walk cobblestone streets. And I am flying there and back for about $500, the same price as flying to NYC.

I will be staying in the port city of Vigo, co-incidently, the last place in Spain that my grandfather, Emilio, saw as his ship left from there. Sometimes, I can almost feel my grandfather's spirit, pushing me to strengthen my ties with his region. Like today, as I pack and get ready to leave. By the way, Santa Maria is the small hamlet, near the border with Portugal, where Emilio was born. I mean small: maybe 20 people in total and thrice as many goats, sheep and cows.

I can't wait to eat the delicacies of this seafaring region: octopus, caldo galego, empanadas, chorizo, and paella. And to be surrounded by people who physically look more like my family and me. And are temperamentally similar, too: proud, stubborn, political, tough, superstitious, hard-working, frugal, and family-oriented. This is where my "little brother," Jason, spent this summer, working for Fonso at his family's seafood restaurant. And it will now be my vacation spot.

I am not sure if I will have time for this blog during this break. Life will tell. Now off to the old country for some much needed R&R.

Galicia: the Celtic part of Spain from which my family hails...

Most people think of Spain as a sunny, arid country. That's only part of the story, because in the northwest corner of this Iberian peninisula, right above Portugal, is Galicia. In this rainy and green place, a visitor would think they are in Ireland or Brittany. Indeed, the Celtic people of this region are related to both of these places, and also descend those warring and nomadic Visigoths, rather than the darker Moors of southern Spain. This is where my grandfather emigrated from during the 1920's, thankfully, about 15 years before the Spanish Civil War commenced. Check out this picture of my boyfriend, from a few years back, when he used to dance with a native Celtic troupe. (I am not sure if his dance partner is wearing a hat or a potted plant.:))

The natives of Galicia are called "gallegos" and are famous for their friendliness, industriousness, long grudges, thrift, stubbornness, and beliefs in all sorts of witchcraft and trickery. I mention this because my family still possesses many of the characteristics, including an interest in spirituality. And on a bad day, you might call one of us cheap, brooding or stubborn. I am sure my grandfather is tickled by the idea that my boyfriend is from Galicia and that my "lil bro" Jase is working in his old country during this summer. Well, my family is proud of Jason for his 60-hour work weeks, summer exploits and all the things he is learning while working for Fonso's family restaurant, including fluency in Spanish and Galician dialect.

I spoke to Jase and Fonso, tonight, after their 12-hour day and they were tired, silly, and full of the devil. Real gallegos. Just like my grandfather. Wherever he is, I am sure he is pleased and as am I. Good night.